Found, aka: Thistle Annoys Many Beasts
by Lady Meowzalot
Summary: Thistle is found by her grandmother, and that sets off a whole string of events...mainly Thistle annoying everyone within a three mile radius.
1. Found at Redwall

Disclaimer: I only wish I owned what BJ does. But I'll have to deal with owning only my characters and made up places

Hope Woodwind burst through the Abbey gates, basket in paw and skirts billowing in the breeze. And mouth wide, wide open. And sounds coming out. Sounds such as, "My, this abbey has changed so much! Hmmph! Look at this dirt! Why when I was here..." and so on and so on. An elderly mouse in a plain green habit smiled at her, and beckoned the old mousewife towards him.

"Hope! It's been such a long time! What brings you here?" Abbot Piklyn chuckled warmly. Hope adjusted her apron, and grinned.

"Has been f' you too, Father! Now, I've brought you my home baked honey loaves," The mousewife started, taking out a feather duster and starting to brush the Abbey walls. "They're a little cold, but I'm sure Friar Rumple will take care of it!" 

The Abbot had question stamped all over his face as he watched Hope dust the outside of his Abbey, but then it softened as he remembered how meticulous she could be. "Right. Come along, Rumple will take care of it!" Piklyn led the old mousewife across the sun-dappled orchards to Great Hall. 

Hope enjoyed the walk immensely, glancing at the young ones playing on the lawn. Her attention was stuck on a young mousemaid, in a simple light green tunic and lavender skirt, her light tan fur in the normal range of mouse coloring. But something about that child seemed familiar...oh if only Hope could see her face! The maid turned around, to chat with a tall ottermaid on her other side, and Hope drew in a sharp breath. "Stop! Abbot!"

The mouse stopped dead in his tracks, and ran towards the old mousewife, thinking something was wrong. No, it was probably just Hope having a panic-attack because the ground was dirty. "What is it?" he gasped, short of breath. Hope ignored his rasping, and pointed to the mousemaid.

"Who is that? Who?"

"Why, that's Thistle Longfaith! Daughter of Rhubarb and Periwinkle, you know...why, Hope, whatever is the matter?" The abbot's kindly face was etched in concern.

Hope stood stock still, barely breathing. "Why didn't you tell me my granddaughter was here?" she mumbled, still in a trance from seeing her daughter's face again, in the form of her child. 

"I sent someone out to tell you..." Piklyn shrugged, and then his face changed. "LOUISELLE!" he yelled, adressing a young female squirrel. 

Louiselle rushed over, brushing off her Novice habit. "Yes, Father Piklyn?" she cried. 

"You idid/i ask Fethrinen Falcon to go to Northern-South-Glen to tell the Woodwind family about Thistle...didn't you?"

Louiselle stuttered, looking at the ground. "I...I'm so..sorry, Father...I...I forgot! I had forgotten I forgot until now too, it's been so many seasons" 

Abbot Piklyn put a comforting paw around the shaking form of the squirrelmaid, as did Hope. 

"Come, child, it was all a big mistake!" Hope smiled, hugging Louiselle. The squirrel brushed away her tears, her lips turned up in a small grin.

"I suppose, now if you will excuse me, I need to get back to pruning the hedges!" The novice hurried off with all the agility of the young squirrel.

Thistle turned her head, noticing something was going on, and a strange mousewife was STARING at her! She exclaimed to her otterfriend, SlipLock, "What are they doing over there? I'm going to go see!" SlipLock just shrugged, and the stubborn mousemaid stomped over there, ready to yell at her for staring at her. Just because a mouse had purple eyes, that didn't mean she had to gawk at her! Thistle opened her mouth, and was squeezed tightly by that odd mousewife.

"Oh, Thistlethistlethistlethistle..." Hope sobbed, as the mousemaid gave her a strange look.

"Why in the world are you hugging me? Get off!" Thistle did not know the meaning of tact, being blunt came naturally to her. The old mousewife drew back, thoroughly chastened, and smiled. 

"Your mother had the same attitude!"

"My...mother?" Thistle stared incredulously at Hope, her purple eyes glinting in confusion.

"Yes! Your mother! Periwinkle? My daughter! Now, Thistle, since you're my granddaughter, you're coming to live with me! No buts! C'mon, we'll get you at home in Northern-South Glen in no time!"

~***~

The birds twittered peacefully in the trees, their melodious songs echoing around the abbey.

Too bad they were drowned out by two female mice carrying lots of heavy bags and arguing 'til they were blue in the face.


	2. Thistle Annoys at NSG

Disclaimer: I only own my characters and the places I made up. Virtually everything in this chapter;)

Thistle was almost hoarse from arguing. For seven sunrises she had bickered and fought with Grandma Hope. They had argued about everything, from the best foods to her outfit. Which her grandmother hated, of course. "That lavender doesn't go with your eyes," she had sniffed. "And that tunic? Uuurgh, it just doesn't suit you, m'dear!" That was the biggest row they'd had so far. That was also why the mousemaid wasn't talking, and neither was the mousewife. Intensely irate, they had both sworn not to speak to one another.

Of course, that lasted five minutes.

Thistle couldn't contain herself any longer. "Strawberries, strawberries..." she hummed, getting nasty glances from Hope.

The glance didn't last long, though, for there was a bigger thing to see. 

The settlement wasn't big, by any means, but it seemed huge when you took all the beasts milling about 'round there. The leaves of trees dappled the houses and ground below, and the voices of beasts mingled with birdsong. The effect was far from melodious, the notorious Woodwind family was around. But to Thistle's large, dish shaped ears it was wonderful! Finally, a place that wasn't peaceful!

Hope smoothed her skirts, and spat on her paw, scrubbing her granddaughter's face.

"No grandotter o' mine'll be dirty when she meets the family!"

"Gerroff! Honestly, I'm clean, Gramma! Great Seasons, what are you trying to do, clean my face straight off? Oh, that'd be a fine thing, I couldn't see, or smell, or taste! How'd you like it if I did it to you, huh?"

Thistle's protests were what turned the attention to the two mice at the entrance of the settlement. Otters shook their heads, and hedgehogs sighed, and even the patriarch rolled his eyes as if pleading for deliverance. But the Woodwinds, ah, the Woodwinds rushed straight over to the two and pried Hope away.

"Honestly, Mother, the girl needs room!"

"Who is she, anyway, Hope?"

"Hmm, looks like Fuschia, a bit."

"No, she does not! I'm far prettier!"

"Ha! You, pretty?"

"Cut it out, you too, I'm prettier than her and Fuschia put together!"

And so on, and so on. The mice of the Woodwind family were more like shrews, argumentative and pushy. Thistle was right in the thick of it, yelling about how she was too pretty, and she'd rather never eat strawberries for the rest of her life than admit she wasn't. 

Soon, not one single mouse was distinguishable from any other. It was a whirlwind of various shades of tan, as well as the astonishingly bright dresses of the females. The patriarch himself, an old, grizzled squirrel, had to but in. He grabbed the shoulder of the one called Fuschia and Thistle's paw to keep them from ripping each other to shreds.

"QUIIIIIEEEEEET!" Patriarch Firmbough shouted. The melee stopped that instant, and the squirrel glared around at them. "I know it's second nature for the Woodwinds to fight, but could you just SHUT UP for once?" Ashamedly, the mice looked at the grass, shuffling their feet. Satisfied his work was done, Firmbough patted Thistle on the head. She scowled, and he took a closer look. He had never seen a mousemaid of the Woodwind clan with purple eyes! There were the tales of Arys, the ancestor of the Woodwinds, and how she had those astonishing eyes. Firmbough arched a brow, and Thistle announced her presence.

"I'm thirteen seasons old, thank you, and I'd rather not be patted on the head like a Dibbun. My name is Thistle Willowsong Longfaith and I am Hope's granddaughter, unfortunately for me." Hope scowled at that, but the maid continued. "And furthermore, if any of you even dares to look at my eyes in wonder, I will find some way to slip oleander in their drink. Thank you!" She tossed her head rebelliously. Fuschia was the first to explode into laughter, and then the others followed suit.

"She's got spunk, allright!"

"Yessiree, Bob, she does!"

"Heh, what a mouth on that 'un!"

"A true Woodwind, she is!"

"FEAASST!" That remark came from a child half as high as Thistle. Of course, the gregarious clan immediately began bustling off to their houses to cook, Hope dragging Thistle to her house to get some decent clothing.

That left the Patriarch and all the other confused residents of the Northern South Glen to ponder what exactly had happened in the last ten minutes.


	3. A Feast and a Watcher

Thistle had been placed between her Aunt Fuschia and her cousin Dappledew, the one who suggested the feast in the first place.

The Woodwinds may have been argumentative mice with the attention spans of Dibbuns, but they could cook! Sure, the cakes were a little lopsided, and one batch of cookies looked suspicious, but it all tasted wonderful.

And Thistle tasted it all by having a spoon shoved in her mouth again and again. Dappledew had wanted to be the big girl, and now was feeding the mousemaid. Thistle suspected she had been even worse as a Dibbun.

"She just likes being the mommy," Fuschia chuckled.

The mousemaid seethed inwardly, but kept a smile on her face. It was hard though, and she almost retched when the spoon went too far back.

Patriarch Firmbough had finally figured out what was going on. He tapped a wineglass for attention. "We would like to welco-" he began.

There was mass chaos at Thistle's end of the table. She had accidentally tipped over a vat of strawberry fizz, soaking Fuschia. The squirrel's hearing wasn't so impaired that he couldn't hear the irate mice from across the room.

"Clumsy! You're as graceful as a herd of wild rats!"

"Herd of wild rats? Don't you think that analogy is a little iffy?"

Soon, the whole family was involved. Even though this wasn't their fight, they took sides and argued with a vengance.

"It was an accident, I tell ya!"

"Hhhmph! Prob'ly looked at the little maid's eyes the wrong way!"

"Nah, she said she'd get oleander for that!"

The vicious war of words had begun.

~***~

Everyone had settled down once Thistle had bluntly told off Fuschia. She was now chatting amiably about strawberries to whoever would listen.

"Of the genus Fragaria...fascinating!"

"Quite, Miss Longfaith." Firmbough had to hold his breath to stifle a yawn. He had placed himself by the mousemaid in order to prevent any other fights, but he had quickly found out his mistake. The squirrel hastily made an excuse to get away. "Er, yes, it's getting late, I had better be...going. Yes, going!" He scampered off as fast as his old bones would allow.

A confused look crossed Thistle's face, but she shrugged and continued eating and chatting. It was good to have him off her back, anyway.

Fuschia had had enough. This maid was boring the whole family, even Gramma Hope was snoring instead of cleaning!

"Ah, missie, it's time for bed! It's too late for one of thirteen seasons to be up!"

"But...Dappledew..."

"She'll be going too!" In fact, it would be nice to get rid of the annoyingly smart mousemaid and her daughter all at once. The mousewife roughly shoved the babe into Thistle's arms, and practically pushed her out the door. She gave her directions to her house, and set the mousemaid off.

~***~

The creature gazed at the mousemaid and mousebabe and chuckled. Ha! That maid would get a surprise, oh yes! She settled her cloak around herself more comfortably, and tried not to rustle the brush. Thistle opened the door of a prim cottage, and shut it with a bang. Perfect!


	4. Fiery Reunion

((Sorry for the waitanyhow, this chapter isn't the best. Blah. I own everything in this chapter except for SlipLock (friend of mine's character), but BJ owns the series. Yah. Have fun))

Resentment boiled in Thistle as she slammed the cottage door shut. It wasn't fair! She was sent to bed, when no one else except her little cousin was! Defiance streaked through her, and she grinned. Thistle wasn't going to go to bed!

Moonlight poured in through the open windows, a single candle illuminated the darkness. The mousemaid grabbed it, and began to light the wall sconces.

"No sense in staying up unless it's light!"

"I wikes fire," Dappledew giggled, sitting herself down on a beflowered couch. "Tan I pway wiv it?"

Thistle was smart enough not to let a Woodwind child play with fire, or any other child for that matter.

"No, because little demons live in it. When you get near, they jump on you and devour your flesh," she lied, grinning behind Dappledew's back. It's not like fire doesn't actually devour your flesh, she thought.

But Dappledew wasn't satisfied. She cocked her head, and her hazel eyes twinkled. "Bu'...bu'...I wikes it! Fiwe is me freend!"

Thistle growled, "Su--" She was cut off before she could finish by an earsplitting "BOO!"

She whirled around, absentmindedly setting the candle down within reach of the mousebabe.

"SLIPLOCK!" she cried, blissfully shocked. "You...tracked...me and Granmma...didn't you?"

"Guilty!" the ottermaid in the window grinned. Thistle practically flew over to it to give her best friend a hug. 

"Geez, you're huge! Now, lets try to get you through that window!"

Delicate light tan paws grabbed hold of sturdy dark ones, and pulled SlipLock through. The tall maid knocked her head on the small frame, she was almost too big to fit through! "You could've used the door, you know," the otter gasped, rubbing her head.

"I'm smart, not sensible," retorted the mousemaid.

"Fine, fine...GREAT SEASONS!"

Thistle frowned. "What?"

"It was a accydent, I didn' mean f' it t' do dat," whimpered Dappledew. Panic gripped Thistle, and she spun around immediately.

The house was on fire.


	5. How To Avoid Trouble, Thistle style

((Yay! I'm back with more of the weird taleas for Northern-South Glen, it is a small little village near Southsward. Not in, near. Again, I own Thistle and NSG+inhabitants, and SlipLock is a friend's. BJ owns the rest.))

"Well, Thistle, what do you suggest we do?" SlipLock gasped as she ran to pick Dappledew up.

"How am I supposed to know! Wait, fire feeds on oxygen, meaning that if we just clear the house of airnever mind"

Tears welled in Dappledew's eyes, and SlipLock patted her head absentmindedly. "It's only a LITTLE fire" The tall ottermaid shoved the wailing mousebabe into Thistle's arms and darted around the fire. She yanked a blanket off of a sofa, and set it over the steadily growing flames. Then, she began doing something that Thistle wasn't familiar with.

"Slippy! What in Martin's name are you DOING? You look like a mad hare who has eaten too much sugar!" Thistle gasped. 

The ottermaid in question shot a glare at Thistle. "This, I'm jumping on the blanket to put out the fire. Do I look like that?"

"Oh. That's a good idea. Why didn't I think of it?" She launched herself onto the blanket with vigor, still wrestling with Dappledew in her arms. Scorch marks covered the once blue quilt, but the fire had vanished.

Eyes wide, Slip Lock asked, "Should we lift it?"

"Uhh"

"I'll take that as a yes."

The otter whipped the quilt-remains off with a flourish. Horror crossed Thistle's face, and remained there. "We" she murmured.

Mrs. Fuschia Greysky-Woodwind's perfectly sanded hardwood floor was now ashen black. Dappledew was open mouthed with horror. Apparently, her pyromania had been cured.

"Throw rugs?" SlipLock gulped.

"No," Thistle moaned.

"Fiwe nokk me fwen' annymore," Dappledew whimpered.

Thistle and SlipLock had the sort of friendship where each could almost tell what the other was thinking with a look in their eyes. With one glance, Thistle and SlipLock had a plan in the making. "You start packing the rations, I'll make the ransom note!" giggled the mousemaid.

"UhI thought we were running away, not being kidnapped!"

"SlipLock, it takes imagination and a brain to think of these things, and I have both!"

The ottermaid skipped around the cottage, gathering what remotely looked like food. Not much was left from the feast, but what was was interesting. Half baked cookies littered the kitchen table, with what looked like raisins in their gooey depths. Beakers of strange cordials sat next to them. SlipLock gulped down a few sips of one and almost choked. "PHWOAR! These are really _really_ bad!"

Mr. Rulleth Greysky was a food inventor, an unsuccessful one at that. Fuschia barely put up with his weird creations. No matter how bad it was, though, he never gave up.

SlipLock, with one last distasteful look, slipped all of the concoctions in a burlap bag that hung over the counter.

"If we don't find berries or sommat on the way, I'll die!"

Thistle, on the other hand, was having a tremendous amount of fun with the ransom note. So far, it read:

Deer Wood wynds,

I hav takn ur dotters wit me. Duu not x pect tu git them bak uhnlez yew giz me lotsa shinee thinz. I taknz ur food tooz. 

Luv Annonimuz beest.

She'd like to see them decipher THAT. Scrawled in unintelligible handwriting with atrocious spelling, it was nearly unreadable. Cackling with pleasure, Thistle left it perched in the window in plain view.

"All ready, Slip?"

"Yeahthis beast makes the weirdest food!"

"I heard Aunt Fuschia talk about someone like that"

"Dadee, dadee!"

"Mystery solved."

Thistle exchanged the mousebabe for the ration sack, and threw open the door. "No more absurd family!" 

The threesome waltzed out of the village with giggles and loud "Hush"es.


	6. When in Doubt, Spin in Circles

((Disclaimer: Please do not use any of my characters, or SlipLock. I'm sure that my friend would resent if her character were used. You may comment on them, but ONLY in reviews or e-mails sent to me regarding the story. Thank you!))

"So."

"So."

"Sho."

They were out of the village, luckily without incident, and they had finally come to a spreading plain. Running off impulsively to avoid trouble can have its downfalls, and being lost was one of them.

"Well, I've a general idea that we've got to head back to Redwallyou'd know the way, Slip, you tracked us," said Thistle, glancing at SlipLock. "Which way?"

SlipLock, who was holding Dappledew, gave a wry grin. "What would you say if I didn' remember?"

"Well, let me see, I'd berate you for your incredible studo you mean to say you forgot the way?"

"Er, bad short term memory, y'know?"

"Eh heh," snorted Thistle. "Well, that leaves one thing to do."

"Go backs?" asked Dappledew in horror.

"No, no, never that! Now watch as I do this with careful precision and utmost exactability." The mousemaid shut her eyes and began rotating where she stood, paw straight out in front of her. "Shut your eyes, too and say when to stop!"

SlipLock, enjoying herself, shut her eyes and waited for quite a bit before hollering, "STOP!" Thistle woozily opened her eyes and staggered a bit before regaining her footing. 

"WeTHATAWAY!" she exclaimed. Thistle was pointing toward a stretch of forest across a stream beyond Northern South Glen. It was, though they didn't know it, the exact opposite way to Redwall Abbey.

"Oooh, stream, lovely!" said SlipLock, a dreamy expression crossing her face. "I 'aven't swam in such a long time"

"You can, if you must, but what about me and Dappledew? H2o is a thing otters like, not mice! Speaking of, "H" means hydrogen, and the two after it means two hydrogen atoms, the "o" is oxygen"

"Fissle! Stobbit, 'ow we gonna gerracross?" said Dappledew crossly, struggling in SlipLock's firm grip.

"I don't know, but that is only because I haven't investigated the area and analyzed our assets, mind you. I'll figure out something," said Thistle.

SlipLock tapped her footpaw impatiently. "So why don't I check it out first, an' see if it's shallow enough f'r you t' cross!"

"Good, good, and I'll test the water temperature, and boil a sample to get rid of the germs."

"Exactly why would that help?" asked SlipLock. Dappledew squirmed and nodded at the same time.

Thistle was startled. "Well, boiling the water gets rid of germs, and if I can figure out a way to boil all of the water in this rivery-type-thing, or is it a stream, I never can telloh, yes, if I can boil all the water, we can cross it without getting some terrible disease!"

"Or I'll jus' swim across carrying you two with Thistle 'oisting the 'aversack above 'er 'ead and risk getting infected," said SlipLock, hastily supressing a giggle.

"Yes, that. It should work well, what say you, Dapp?"

"Oh, stobby alla you plannin', I jus' wanna gerraway!" growled the mousebabe.

Eventually they crossed the flowing stream, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and reached the other side safely. Thistle dropped the haversack once or twice when SlipLock sped up or slowed down without warning. 

"It's not like it matters much, anyway, the food in there's 'orrible," said SlipLock when they reached the other side, all rather soaked. She glanced around, fervently hoping there were berries near.

And there were. Thistle, who momentarily vanished from sight, appeared immersed in the middle of a blackberry bush. "Blackberries, they're"

"Food, that's what they are!" SlipLock rushed over and started gathering as many as she could. So did Thistle, her method slightly different.

"One for the sack, one for me, one for the sack, five for methey most certainlyaren't as good as strawberries..shlerphumph..but I can find no better sustenance at the present time," garbled Thistle.

"I c'n change that!" said a merry voice.

"Whozzat?" 


	7. Two Rabbits in the Woods

The three maids whirled around, and were face to face with a beaming rabbit. "Unless you're full. Or maybe you're trying to kill me." The rabbit said this in a matter-of-fact voice, not at all like he was worried of being assassinated.

"Just 'oo are you, sir? And why're you wandering 'round in the middle o' the night?" asked SlipLock. 

"Yes, please do state your name, and why you're here!" chimed in Thistle.

Not to be outdone, Dappledew said, "Who be you, mista?"

The rabbit stared at them for a minute. "You're not vermin, you're too polite. I suppose I could tell you." SlipLock and Thistle exchanged a glance. "I'm Omory Darengton. As for why I'm here, why can't I enjoy the late night stars?" The leaves on the trees covered the sky. Thistle and SlipLock gave each other another glance, this one along the lines of, "Why in the world isn't he asking us why we're here?"

"My name is Thistle Longfaith, daughter of Periwinkle and Rhubarb, granddaugh--" The ottermaid covered Thistle's mouth with an apologizing smile at Omory.

"I'm SlipLock."

"An' mee's Dappledew Greysky-Woo'wind!"

SlipLock removed her paw from the mousemaid's mouth and patted her on the head. "We are, t' answer yer question, quite 'ungry!"

"Faintishly famished, radiantly ravished, simply starving!"

Omory grinned at them, then took each older maid suddenly by the paw. At the last second SlipLock hoisted Dappledew on her shoulder with one arm. "To my house, to meet my lovely wife who'll be waking up just now! That is, if no one has poisoned her and set fire to the house." Somehow it unnerved Thistle that this rabbit could talk about disasters with perfect ease, like he didn't expect them to happen.

They whisked through the woods at Omory's pace. Omory's pace, however, was not slow. All that Thistle, SlipLock, and Dappledew could see was blurry green surrounding them. The rabbit then stopped short when they reached a flower-covered mound. Thistle and SlipLock both crashed into him.

"An object won't stop moving unless acted upon by an outside force!"

"Fissle!" The three of them tried to get themselves disentangled from each other, eventually succeeding.

"Now, ladies, come inside. As I said, Ditia will be about shortly, to see if I'm back yet." Omory stepped up and delicately rapped on the round, yellow door. A face appeared at the window and moments later a youngish rabbitwife opened the door.

"Nothing set fire to then, I take it, nor knocked down or anything else," she grinned, wrapping her fluffy blue robe tighter around herself when she saw visitors behind Omory. "Now, you young ladies come inside, you've passed Omory's inspection is all I can say, so you must be fairly decent."

They were ushered in to the tiny house. Squashy stuffed furniture was all over the place, even around the rough wood table. Ditia always gave the maids the most benevolent smiles possible, even when Thistle suddenly went into a talkathon about maple trees. The food was wonderful, though not fancy. SlipLock was overjoyed to have actual food to eat.

In the middle of the meal, Omory looked up at them. "We have a favor to ask you."

"What is it?" SlipLock asked.

Ditia bit her lip and stirred her soup absentmindedly. "Our daughtershe's lost. Could you, perhaps, perhaps only, mind youlook for her for us?"


	8. Foxes and Doom

Thistle blinked at the odd request. "I suppose"

"Why not?" SlipLock shrugged. 

"All right, we'll make you a deal. If we go and find your daughter, Dappledew stays with you," Thistle proposed, eyeing a strawberry on SlipLock's plate hungrily. The ottermaid sighed and plopped it on Thistle's plate.

"That sounds all right. Unless, of course, we" Omory started, but he was interrupted by his wife's joyful exclamations.

"REALLY? Dearie me, she's been lost for days, we've looked everywhere, everywhere, mind you!" Ditia whipped out a flowered handkerchief and blew her nose. 

Thistle was already making plans. "Right, we'll leave at dawn and then circle the burrow looking for clues. If we find any, we'll proceed in that direction while keeping a steady eye out for any more clues"

SlipLock sighed. "This is gonna be a loooooong night." 

~***~

Edela Darengton sat on a stone, basking in the morning sunlight. The trees seemed friendly in this place. The spacious gaps between them were filled with a rainbow of flowers, and the birdsong wasn't just chirping, it was music. She refused to believe she was lost in sucha pretty place, though deep down she knew she was. All she'd wanted to do was go and pick some pretty flowers for her motherwell, there were plenty of flowers here. 

Cracking sounds issued from somewhere nearby, and Edela clutched her bunny-doll tighter. "Wanna" she whimpered.

"Why's that?" A brown muzzle tapering into rust colored fur thrust itself out of a nearby bush. A fox! Paralyzed with fear, Edela curled herself up in a ball and sniffed. "Don' be scared, I ain't gonna hurtcha," the fox said, and he squirmed out of the bush.

He was no older than she was! The battered tunic and earring dangling from one ear gave him a mischievous, wild appearance. "Who're you?" she asked, gathering up her courage.

"I'm Oster. What's y_ou_r name?" Oster looked curiously at her.

"IAlede?" That was her own name backwards. Edela still didn't trust the young fox. She turned her head sharply when she caught a twitch of movement out of the corner of her eye. The rabbit witnessed two more foxes materialize beside Oster.

"I told you, he wasn't to be trusted. He could've stolen from that young'un over there!" the older, slightly plumper one exclaimed. 

"But Zest, he's so cute, and he can play the tamborine so well!" the other one grinned. Sure enough, Edela saw a tamborine clutched in Oster's paw that she hadn't noticed before. She turned her gaze to the other two.

Zest looked quite formidable with a fencing sabre hanging from her right paw. Her brown skirt billowed out from her blue bodice, and there was a red scarf tied jauntily around her head. The other fox was slim and pretty, with all sorts of bangles adorning her wrists. Her skirts didn't billow, they glided, and all of her movements were graceful. The same sort of red scarf was also tied around her head.

"Sorry, dear, about Oster, was he botherin' you? If he was, I'll chop his paw off," Zest said, glancing at Oster and twirling her sabre menacingly.

"You can't! Then he couldn't play the tamborine, and then what would I dance to?" The pretty fox stomped her footpaw.

"I can, and I will, Torynia, if he doesn't stop wandering off!"

Edela just sat on her stone, watching the whole exchange wide eyed. She then remembered Zest had directed a question to her. "No" Zest nodded.

"You lost then?"

"How can you be so kind to her, and yet not to Oster?" Torynia wrapped her arms around a slyly grinning Oster.

"He's a little thief, and I don't take kindly to 'em. I met enough at the tavern!" Zest glared, and Torynia seemed to know that there was no point in arguing any further. "We'll make camp here, and darling," here she gave a kind glance to Edela, "you can eat breakfast with us, if you'd like." Edela just nodded, and clambered down from her perch.

~***~

"Right, her name's Edela, she was last seen wearing a white dress and blue pinafore, she's got speckledy tan fur," Thistle said, ticking off each item on her paw. "She went out of the burrow and straight into the woods, and she never came back. This was three days ago, correct?" Ditia and Omory nodded. 

"You be good, Dappledew," called SlipLock as they walked out the door. Thistle's eyes lit up as they passed a rowan tree.

"Lookit there, some pawprints! Did you know that the rowan tree's a deciduous tree, and it's part of the rose family, and"

"This, be quiet, I don't particularly want to learn about the rowan tree," SlipLock said, rolling her eyes.

"Are otters' noses good for smelling? Maybe you could sniff Edela out, I'm sure it would be easier than wandering willynilly all over the forest."

"No."

"Then we'll just have to rely on my sharp wit and keen logic to figure out where she is!"

"We're doomed."


	9. Little Thief and a Personality Issue

The four sat around a fire on mossy rocks. Torynia was busy cooking pancakes, and Zest was setting out apples and cheese. Oster sat beside Edela, entertaining the small rabbit with stories of his adventures.

Edela found herself relaxing in the foxes' company. They, for the most part, were jolly and kind. Zest was intolerant of thieves, fighting, lying, and cheating, as she soon learned when the vixen told off Oster for trying to take one of Torynia's bangles.

"I don't mind, honestly!" Torynia protested. Edela giggled suddenly, and Zest turned her cool gaze to the rabbit. 

"What's so funny?" Zest asked. She then turned her head in Oster's direction, and she caught him making silly faces. "Aha, our little troublemaker thief."

"How'd he get to you, anyway?" Edela shocked herself by asking this, but soon was eagerly interested in Zest's story

~***~

__

A season earlier

The tiny town was called Seabrink for a reason. It was on the edge of the shore, where the water meets the land. If you wanted, you could exit the sandy streets of the town and go for a dip in the nearby sea. Lines of market stalls full of glittering wares snaked along the edges of the town. Rickety houses were clustered in the middle, as if the inhabitants were afraid of the pirates that frequently docked there. 

Zest Mansam walked the streets of the harbor town. Her posture was upright, her head facing forward, and she acted like she owned the place. She couldn't help scowling, though, at a young fox snatching a gold necklace from a beast in front of them. The fox just grinned cheekily at her and ran off, a tambourine in his hand jingling after him.

The vixen despised openly dishonest people. If you went about your business more subtly, though, she could respect the cleverness and scheming involved. Her former job, though, required neither of those. Just brute force. 

She was a tavern maid. Serving drinks wouldn't satisfy her alone, but keeping the peace was a job she was born to do. Any brawlers or rabble-rousers immediately fell victim to Zest's ready blade. She didn't kill them. She just chopped off one of their paws, a necessity for a corsair or soldier. 

Zest, however, didn't feel satisfied with her job. So she followed in her mother's footsteps, and ran away. The tavern would be well kept by her father and siblings. She then met Torynia, a talented dancer, and they formed their own act. Zest would do swordplay and beat time while Torynia danced. They usually earned enough valuables to buy food and drink to last them until the next town.

A sudden hiss of, "Damn it, Zest, you're late!" caught the vixen's attention. She submitted to being dragged down an alleyway by a slim, pretty vixen.

"Torynia, you're just going to dance on the street, what on earth is the hurry?" said Zest.

"It's the concept o' the thing!"

Zest sighed. "Well, get out there and start!" Before Torynia went, Zest grabbed her red headscarf and straightened it. "There."

Torynia headed off to beside a stall and began to twist and contort her body into daunting positions. A warm-up, she called it. If Zest didn't know better, she would have called it torture.

That in itself gathered a crowd of watchers, including, much to Zest's chagrin, the little fox thief. She watched Torynia start to slowly dance to the music forever echoing inside her head (so she told Zest, who was a bit skeptical of this). The vixen didn't draw her sword quite yet, wanting to witness which routine Torynia decided to do. 

And then, a lone jingle began to beat in time to Torynia's dancing. The vixen was surprised at first, and then her eyes lit up as she saw the little fox tapping the tambourine with his paw. She danced with a will, and kept up with the fast paced tambourine music. Zest was so enthralled with the music that she didn't realize where it was coming from.

They earned more valuables that day than they had before in a week. After their impromptu show, Torynia rushed up to the little fox and hugged him.

"Oh, Zest, can we keep him?"

Zest blinked as she saw what had made the music, and murmured a rainbow of choice language. 

~***~

"So you let him come with you?" Edela asked, grinning at Oster.

"Yep, that's about right. I wish we hadn't, though," said Zest.

"You know you love the little rascal," smiled Torynia.

"I love him as much as I love blood-sucking leeches. Maybe a bit less, to tell the truth."

~***~

Thistle was skipping happily along in the forest, pointing out all of the trees and prattling on about their various medicinal uses and such. That is, until she spied a trail of rabbit footprints in the loamy ground.

"Aha, judging by the size of these prints, I'd say that we're dealing with a young female rabbit, four seasons old," mused Thistle.

"Yes, we knew that, as Ditia told us this 'fore we left," said SlipLock. 

"You're ruining the moment."

"I do what I can."

They went along awhile longer, SlipLock restraining herself from banging her head against a tree at the insufferableness of her friend. 

"Halt, stop, cease, pause, rest, desist!" called the mousemaid, her pink nose twitching. "Do you smell food, sustenance, vittles, nourishment, pabulum?"

"Why do simple sentences need a buncha words that mean the same thing?" SlipLock crossed her arms and sent Thistle a mock _look_.

"Because it's fun, obviously, why else would I waste my brilliance upon such lowlife as yourself?"

"Um'cause I'm your friend?"

"RRrgh. Anyway, I smell something," said Thistle, glaring right back. 

"Uhhuh. Well, I s'pose we should"

"Examine what is aromatizing from ahead?"

"Whate'er that means, yes."

The maids crept forward, Thistle silent for once, and hid behind a leafy raspberry bush. They espied three foxes sitting around a fire with a rabbit. "They've rabbitnapped her!" hissed Thistle. "On three, we jump out and fight the foxes to the death for the babe! One, two, THREE!"

SlipLock stood up quickly and at the exact same time as Thistle. The ottermaid lifted her arm automatically, knocking Thistle headfirst into the bush.

"YAAAAGH! ALL RIGHT, FOXES! Even though I'm incapacitated at the moment, I'm not afraid to rip your stomach out with my bare hands! Fear my wrath!"

"Excuse 'er, she's having a temporary personality issue a' the moment."

"I do TOO rip out stomachs!"

"More likely to make beasts vomit in boredom!"

"I'll get you for that, Slip!"

"If you can do _that_ to the bush, I'd _hate_ to think of what you'd do to me!"

"Sarcasm! Sarcasm, BLATANT sarcasm!"

The four around the fire turned around to witness the odd scene playing out in front of them.


End file.
